


Big Men don't cry

by Shiny22Snivy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Respawn Scars, Scars, Tommy is Bad at Feelings, because heaven knows there isnt already enough of it on this site, but i feel like tommy and tubbo angst is still relevant, i started writing this like last month, look me in the eye and tell me tommy isnt the UGLIEST fucking crier, rated teen for tommy's potty mouth, they are best friends your honour, tommy angst, tommy cries like a little bitch that's it thats the fic, tubbos face is fucked from the festival yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny22Snivy/pseuds/Shiny22Snivy
Summary: The room is small and warm, almost stifling compared to the cool openness of the ravine. It’s cosy and candlelit, and a chest sits open in the corner, full of what looks to be burnt rags of a former smart suit. And sitting in rumpled blankets on a bed, cradling a mug of something steaming, sits Tubbo.At first, Tommy forgets all about Niki’s vague warning. He’s just so happy to see his best friend again, alive and well and all in one piece. Tubbo’s okay. Tubbo’s okay, and in front of him, and suddenly everything bad in the world is gone, if only for just a moment.“Tommy?”And then Tubbo turns to look at him.
Relationships: Tommyinnit & Toby Smith | Tubbo, platonic you cretins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 236





	Big Men don't cry

**Author's Note:**

> i am a simple woman. i get invested in a piece of media, i write one (1) short fic about it that i post here, then i vanish for the next 3 months.
> 
> (Edit) what the fuck how did this thing get 1000 hits in literally 2 days thank you so much

It had been a taxing few weeks for TommyInnit.

Stumbling unevenly down the stone-carved steps, cursing under his breath, he wrestled with the desire bubbling up in his chest to scream his lungs out. Watching one’s best friend _explode_ at the hands of someone thought to be trustworthy tends to do that to a person. Being cold, and tired, and covered in the infuriating ghostly half-there ache of respawned bruises doesn’t help, either.

Technoblade stands at the bottom, waiting for him. Fucking _Technoblade._ He isn’t wearing his crown anymore, but there isn’t a smudge of dirt on the pig-man’s cloak, not a wrinkle in his clean white dress shirt. It simply isn’t fair. That Techno doesn’t seem to feel a scrap of remorse, of any emotion at all, over his actions, while Tommy has to bear the weight of feeling like a complete and utter wreck. It had been the same in the Pit. It had been the same since forever.

“Tommy,” Techno begins in his low monotone. Maybe he had more to say, but Tommy doesn’t want to hear it.  
  
“Save it.” He spits, with a little more force than intended. He stares Techno in the eyes, trying to keep his voice level. “Where’s Tubbo?”  
  
Technoblade says nothing. The only indicator that Tommy’s words register to him at all is the slight flaring of his nostrils. After a pause that was longer than it really should’ve been, Techno silently gestures further down the converted ravine, rough-hewn stone illuminated by weak, flickering lanterns.  
  
Tommy holds Techno’s gaze for as long as he feels able to, trying to see if there was anything behind the eyes. Any form of regret. He sees nothing.  
  
_‘The thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence.’_  
  
Tommy hates that he doesn’t know whether or not Technoblade was right.  
  
“Tommy?” A voice calls from down the ravine, a soft, German lilt. “Tubbo’s down here, if you want to see him.”  
  
Niki emerges from the dark, the lanternlight casting dramatic shadows over her concerned features. She’d since tied her hair back into a hurried ponytail, and her small hands already blackened by dirt and dust. She’d only been down here a day or so.  
  
“He’s fine, Tommy.” She assures, seeing the look of urgency that creeps across Tommy’s face as he peers at her over Techoblade’s shoulder. “He’s been asking after you, though.”  
  
Shooting Techno one last filthy look, Tommy trails after Niki down the ravine. He’d’ve liked to break his stupid pig snout again, just to teach him a lesson, but contents himself instead with the mere memory of the cartilage cracking under his fist.  
  
Niki is awfully quiet. Her face drawn, avoiding his gaze, she leads Tommy down to a newly excavated side-room in the ravine, and then stops.  
  
“Tommy, you know how the respawn magic can be a little…” She struggles to find the right word. “...Um, _fickle?”_  
  
Tommy shoots her a look. He’s all too aware of the consequences of dying in a particularly dramatic fashion; the gash on his chest and the puncture wound in his neck never truly faded away, a grim reminder of the times he’s lost against Dream. “Yeah? Where are you going with this? Is - is Tubbo okay?”  
  
Niki’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, no, he’s okay, he’s alive, just… he died quite… violently. And, well, you’ll see” She ushers Tommy into the room. “I feel like you might need some time alone with him. I need to go find Will.” She shoots Tommy one last apologetic smile, and with that, she is gone.  
  
The room is small and warm, almost stifling compared to the cool openness of the ravine. It’s cosy and candlelit, and a chest sits open in the corner, full of what looks to be burnt rags of a former smart suit. And sitting in rumpled blankets on a bed, cradling a mug of something steaming, sits Tubbo.  
  
At first, Tommy forgets all about Niki’s vague warning. He’s just so happy to see his best friend again, _alive_ and _well_ and _all in one piece._ Tubbo’s okay. Tubbo’s okay, and in front of him, and suddenly everything bad in the world is gone, if only for just a moment.  
  
“Tommy?”  
  
And then Tubbo turns to look at him.  
  
It takes Tommy a moment to process. Tubbo’s expression is one of soft surprise, dark eyebrows raised, round blue eyes glinting in the firelight; it’s a face Tommy’s known since… forever, really. But there’s something _wrong_ , some unpleasantly irregular _incorrectness_ that doesn’t truly hit him until he takes another step.  
  
The entire left half of Tubbo’s face is ravaged by burn scars. The skin is pink and angry, and looks _painful,_ worrying trails of scar tissue over his features like the firecracker sparks that caused them. The burns trail down his collar, vanishing into the neck of his shirt.   
  
Tubbo just smiles ruefully, distorting the scars on his cheek. “Hey, big man.”  
  
“...Hey.” Tommy just about manages to croak back.  
  
Tubbo, as if sending Tommy’s gaze, gingerly touches the mutilated skin. “How bad is it?” He queries. “‘S left a mark, right? ‘Cus my face feels weird, and Niki’s been looking at me funny ever since I woke up.”   
  
“It’s… It could be worse.” He says, trying to sound gruff, but only managing to sound rather hoarse and hollow. He can’t even convince himself, let alone Tubbo. He sits down on the bed, still not looking Tubbo in the eyes. He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, clammy and shaking, so he just clasps them in his lap.  
  
“Mmm. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Tubbo blows gently over the surface of the liquid in his cup, before taking a sip. “Just a bit of skin. Could be _completely_ dead. This sweet berry tea is really nice, by the way. I could ask Niki to make you some too, if you like.”  
  
“Tubbo.” Tommy says, resting his head in his hands and tangling his fingers into his hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”  
  
He doesn’t really know exactly why he’s saying sorry. For trusting Technoblade not to hurt him, or for leaving him with Schlatt, or for the wars, or for dragging him into this whole mess in the first place. Maybe it’s all of it. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, when he feels the warm weight of Tubbo’s hand on his shoulder and and a soft “...what for?” He doesn’t know how to respond.  
  
That doesn’t stop him from having a good _try,_ though. He opens his mouth, has a think, and then closes it again, the only sound escaping being a shaky exhale. “Tubbo, I-” the words catch in the back of his throat, sticking there. He tries to take a deep breath in, but _that_ sticks as well. It’s more like a snivel, than anything else.  
  
And then Tommy begins to cry.  
  
Some people are ugly-criers. Crying is not typically seen as pretty, mind you, but sometimes when movie actors on big screens sob quietly and attractively with glittering eyes, it’s easy to forget that such an outpouring of emotion is rarely ever as subtle or charming. It’s often loud, with runny noses and jerky hiccupping and blotchy red faces; It’s biologically designed to be both a call for attention and an expulsion of stress and toxins. And, as is with most things, it varies from person to person.  
  
Some people are ugly-criers, but you have not _truly_ seen ugly-crying until you’ve seen TommyInnit.  
  
It overtakes him quite suddenly, like a wave, reducing him to noisy, rattling sobs. He’s so completely beside himself that he barely even registers Tubbo’s careful, gentle embrace pulling him upright from his position of being bent double. Tommy buries his face in Tubbo’s shoulder, carelessly staining the clean fabric of his shirt as he just cries and cries and _cries._  
  
In between wet, shaky breaths, he tries to speak, to find the words, _god_ does he try, but they never come out right, dissolving back into a mess of incoherent bawling that spills out of him, unchecked. Tubbo doesn’t press him to speak, simply hugging his friend’s gangly, shuddering frame close to himself, like an anchor.  
  
Tommy has not cried so hard in a very, very long time. He doesn’t think he can remember the last time he let himself cry at all.  
  
When Tommy finally cries himself out, easing into quiet, snuffly hiccups, he doesn’t attempt to disentangle himself from Tubbo’s embrace. It’s nice like that. Tommy isn’t really _built_ for hugs; he’s a little too tall and bony and his limbs a little too long and awkward, but there’s something about Tubbo’s small, warm frame pressed against his chest that’s just _comfortable._  
  
“...you alright?” Tubbo mumbles finally, after a long, heavy silence.  
  
Tommy sniffs. His nose is still bunged to high heaven, so it sounds rather more like a bathtub being emptied. “No.” He says, thickly.  
  
“...Wanna talk about it?”  
  
Finally lifting his head out of the crook of Tubbo’s shoulder, wincing as he trails a thread of snot behind, Tommy huffs. “Dunno if I can.” He admits, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Just feel really bad. Emotions n’ shit.”   
  
“Yeah. That’s okay, man. I get it.” Tubbo surreptitiously touches his own face again. “Lotta stuff’s been happening. I get it. Crying’s good, sometimes. It’s good for you.”  
  
“Yeah.” Tommy sniffles again, but this time with a lopsided grin. “Big men don’t cry, but only in public. In private they’re- they’re little crybabies. ‘S what the media doesn’t want you to see.” He snuffles at his own joke, spraying mucus onto the front of his shirt. “Aw shit, I’m fuckin’ snotting everywhere. I’ll go get tissues, hold on-”  
  
“No, I got it, I got it.” Interrupts Tubbo, managing to extricate himself from the blankets. “I’m fine, I can walk, you stay here.”   
  
“Tubbo-”  
  
“I’m _fine!_ I promise.” Tubbo assures. Taking one last look around the door, he asks “You still want some of Niki’s tea?”  
  
Tommy takes a good look at him, blinking the remaining tears out of his eyes. The scarring is going to take some getting used to, but it’s still _Tubbo._ His best friend in the whole world. Tubbo who can’t read, who gets excited over bees, who is most _definitely totally_ the more clingy out of the two of them. The boy who was willing to forfeit his safety for the sake of their cause and somehow come out smiling, and who Tommy doesn’t know what on earth he’d do without.  
  
“...yeah.” Says Tommy. “That’d be nice.”


End file.
